


The Scarlet Prince

by LotusGirl



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy, M/M, Poetry, Vignette, artistically depressed, it is also happy, very poetic, very soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-07-18 01:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusGirl/pseuds/LotusGirl
Summary: Marc decides to write a book about his beloved Nathaniel, but only when he's writing it does he realize just how sad his prince really is.





	1. Chapter 1

My favorite subject is a prince, but he doesn't belong in their world. A prince always dons a smile on his face. He always waves his hand just so when greeting his subjects. A prince is always on top of his jobs as a future king. A prince always keeps himself neat and kempt. He is the image of perfection. A sun who brightens everyone’s lives, a sun who gives life to all. 

 

But this prince isn’t like that.

 

This prince rarely smiles. He never raises his hand. He avoids his work to divulge in his own pleasures. He rarely cares for how others see him. He is the image of death. He is a fallen angel who became the prince without a kingdom. 

 

This prince is one who is locked in a cage.

 

A bird whose wings have been chained down.

 

A bird whose inner demon can’t be released.

 

But this prince is one of my admiration. A prince who is finer than the most beautiful red rose. A scarlet prince.


	2. Chapter 2

My prince isn’t one to actively be involved in the lives of others. He passes by the average group of people like a ghost, without a soul seeing him. I’m truly amazed no one sees him. One would think that from his vibrant red hair everyone’s eyes would be drawn to him, yet it is quite the opposite. My prince probably sees others, but it is so he can avoid them. Others don’t see him, but they run into him more often than what he would enjoy. 

 

They might apologize or get very bubbly about their little run-in.

 

He doesn’t even bat an eye at them.

 

If it’s someone he’s a little more fond of, he would say “It’s fine” in his softest voice. Rarely does he give them a smile.

 

When I talk to him, he gives me a weary grin and maybe a laugh. He says he’s okay and that he enjoys my company. That he enjoys my writing. 

 

It’s hard to understand if he’s being truthful and tired, or if he’s lying and loving.


	3. Chapter 3

My prince, my prince, what is it you think about? How do you feel when someone compliments your artwork when they see you drawing? I think your art is beautiful, I wish I could draw as good as you do. Most people would feel good about it, but you’re an alien to us. My prince, my prince, what makes you talk? You keep your lips sealed shut, but then you bless us with your voice. The sound of a raven’s caw wrapped in velvet falling through iron bars. What a beautiful sound it makes!

 

My prince, my prince, what fills your head with dreams? What do you dream about? The dreams that make you smile, the dreams that make you scared, I wish I knew, but I hope they’re nice. A cup that runneth over with every passing day of a wine that holds everything you think about. My prince, my prince, what makes you cry when no one’s looking? You think no one notices, but I do. I see the crystalline tears fall down your cheeks when you hide in the back all alone. 

 

My prince, my prince, what makes you laugh? When you hear something funny and you giggle without realizing it. You don’t think so, but I think your laugh is wonderful. I wish I could hear it more often, I wish I could make you laugh.

 

I wish I could make you happy.


	4. Chapter 4

I don’t think he knows I’m staring. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t give me a second glance about it. Despite sticking to his side rather often, he still amazes me. My prince is truly a drawing given life. He’s very beautiful in my eyes. He isn’t perfect, but he’s an eye-catcher. It was strange that such a lovely person would want to cover such a pretty face. I think he’s afraid to show people his eyes. He’s afraid to show his scars. Normal people don’t have those. He doesn’t want to stand out. 

 

I like it when he tucks his hair behind his ear when we’re alone.

 

I get to see his eyes.

 

They say eyes are windows to the soul, a way of seeing their true self. His eyes were the color of the ocean, but it wasn’t like looking at the natural waters. There were concealed layers under the water. The ocean color was a flood, as though he was trying to cover it up even more. His eyes were once dreams flooded by the ocean, a wounded soul concealed by a veil of bleeding roses. Sometimes, I feel bad for loving his eyes. It felt like I was enjoying the look of his pain. I would ask, “Have you been hurt before? Who hurt you?” He would stay quiet and say, “You could say that.”


	5. Chapter 5

You say you wish you could tell me more.

 

Give me more answers.

 

When we’re laying in the garden and watching the sky, I hear your soft voice break the nature-filled silence. I ask you what you mean. You say you want to tell me the world. You want to tell me every thought that runs through your head. You want to share your feelings. You want to express your emotions the same way I do. It’s mutual. My prince, you are so mysterious. You never spill your overflowing soul. You keep it bottled up and just add another set of chains. 

 

You know you can tell me everything.

 

I want to know. I want to help. I want to give you the attention you deserve.

 

You smile when I say that, but you never get back to me on that.

 

I know you want to tell me everything. You said it yourself. 

 

When we’re walking through the rose gardens, you smile and say,” It’s amazing that you’re so honest. I love that about you.” I don’t quite understand what you mean. But you’re not open, not even in the things you love, not even in me. I often wonder why, why are you so closed? Why can’t you open up to me? I’ll never leave you and nothing can make me go away, not you or your confessions. 

 

Please talk to me.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone at school likes stickers. Cat stickers, ball stickers, flower stickers-- Anything you can imagine could be found in a sticker. They love to peel them off the paper and place them in whatever they have. They especially love to put them on their phone cases. One rosy flower had covered her phone in soft, blush-colored squishy stickers of roses and hearts and rabbits and cats. Her friend had a very different collection of bats and bleeding lips. I loved the stickers. It was an expression of themselves. 

 

My prince didn’t have any stickers.

 

I would ask him, “Do you have any stickers?”. He always said no. I felt bad that he couldn’t join our fun, so I bought a sticker pack for him. Unsure of what he loved, a variety of themes was presented to him. Sparkly, colorful, monochrome, artful, animals, people, heart and flowers. I showed him them, telling him he could put them on his phone case. He looked anxious as he thanked me. In that moment, I was excited. I was excited for him.

 

The next day, I didn’t see any stickers. No glitter, no colors, no neutrals, no art, no animals, no people, no heart, no flowers. 

 

It was blank.

 

I asked him why he didn’t use them. He said he was saving them for a special occasion.

 

When I went to his house to play, I saw the stickers and many more. A collection of colors and adhesive paper, all kept in a drawer, hidden from the world. The sight made my heart ache. Why, Scarlet Prince, why must you keep yourself inside? Why must you hide from the world like the stickers you love? 


	7. Chapter 7

You’re very quiet, my prince. I always thought that it was because you had no one to talk to. So I gave myself to you so you can talk with the voice you were blessed with. Sometimes, when I speak to you, you smile with a soft glint in your eyes. Like you were thinking of something. The sight makes me happy, to see you feel peace and contentment, instead of the quiet hurting. My prince, you don’t look happy when others are talking to you. Your classmates, your family, your schoolmates-- anyone passing on the street. You look scared, you look sad, you look annoyed. 

 

It makes me want to protect you.

 

To keep you from other people.

 

To keep you safe and happy.

 

It’s what I want to do the most.

 

Sometimes, when someone comes up to us and asks a question or likewise, you tend to scoot a little closer to me, like you’re trying to hide. I used to wonder if you were just awkward and were just too shy to answer. That was the kind of person you were. Sometimes you looked nauseous, as if their very speech set off an alarm in your head. I would wonder if you got sick. Out of instinct, I would hold your hand in hope that would help you feel better. My prince, why is it that this happens? I want to help. 

 

When we were talking and you smiled, I asked why.

 

You said,” I like the way you talk to me.”

 

It was only then I realized and listened to the conversations you held with others.

 

I didn’t like the way they spoke to you. It was so strange. They spoke to you as if they were speaking to a child, someone who wouldn’t understand so they had to make their statement so simple and clear. They spoke to you as if you were crazy, as if you were a sociopath. They spoke with their words on edge, like they were desperately trying to offend you. Like the slightest notion would trigger an attack from you. Like they were afraid of you. They alienated you. They made you feel inhuman. I don’t speak to you that way, do I? 

 

I don’t.

 

I know you. I know you’re really a wonderful person. I know you can be gentle and kind and loving. I know you’re human. I want you to know it. I want you to feel it. 

 

I want our words to be laced with every inch of love I have for you. 


	8. Chapter 8

My prince isn’t one of the daytime.

 

True, our lives unfold under the kingdom of the sun, but there are those who live and thrive in the shadows. He is one of them. My prince always looked so amazed by the nighttime, and so tired of the sun’s rays. He doesn’t enjoy the burning light and the life that comes with it. “The sun is too controlling; He gives the moon her light, but also restricts the time she’s allowed to shine. No one’s allowed to see her and no one is allowed to thrive in her presence. It seems so unfair for the sun to treat her, a beautiful sight, in such a way,” he once told me. “Why do you think he’s so strict on her,” I asked. I never heard someone regard the sun in a way like that.

 

“He’s a jealous star.”

 

No matter how many times I tell him it’s bad, he still doesn’t get as much sleep as he should.

Many times on free days, I would go to his home to ask if we could play.

 

Every time, he was still asleep in his bed in the late morning. He stays awake deep into the night, making dreams in the canvas instead of his head. It was like the darkness created a new world, separate from the one he lived in during the day. It was strange and beautiful, a place that was perfect for him to hide in. People wouldn’t be drawn to the night the way he is. It was his kingdom. I often found it hard to wake him up, because he just looks so peaceful while sleeping. My prince looks happy. I would sit beside him on the bed and tell him,” It’s time to wake up, sweetie. You don’t want to sleep through the whole day, do you?” “. . . That’s arguable.” I tickled his back and nudged his side to make sure he didn’t fall back asleep.

 

Some days took longer than others to wake him up and get him out of bed.

 

Me and my prince are of two different worlds. I walked the earth under the sun and feared the darkness, but he grew and thrived with the moon under the shadows.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s like you chain yourself down.

 

It’s like you seal your lips shut.

 

The way you hesitate and never act.

 

I can tell you don’t want to be mean, that you don’t want to pick a fight or hurt anyone. When someone disturbs you with a question or compliment, you don’t hiss and spit venom at them, but your eyes are teeming with a murder mystery. I call it an “ocean of death”. When someone makes a mistake and doesn’t know how to fix it, you become increasingly frustrated. You bit your lip to keep from screaming and bleed. I remember when you had to get stitches because you broke the skin so often, the wound became too deep. When asked, you said you had just fallen down, but I knew. I try to give you something to bit on under the table when we’re working in a group because I don’t want the scar to open back up. 

 

My prince, you look so sad when people say that we can do what we want. 

 

When people jump to crazy ambitions the second it comes.

 

Under your breath, you hiss,” Yeah, right.” I used to think your family was strict, that they would hold your hand when you didn’t want them to. Anyone would. That’s the usual case. We’ve met people like that. But that changed when I met your family. Just like you, they were reserved, kind, gentle. They didn’t hold you down, in fact, they encouraged you to spread your wings. Rather, it is you who holds you down. You clip your wings and don the chains everyday, keeping yourself in the same place and keeping your world from moving forward. But at the same time, you’re impatient. You want it to come quicker. 

 

My prince, I ask you this,

 

“How can something you keep from coming happen any faster?”


	10. Chapter 10

I see the way you look at her.

 

She’s a friend of ours, the one with the midnight hair and the sky-pearl eyes. She’s kind and clumsy, her number of falls nearly as many as her loving words. Her heart lies in helping others in every way she can, though at times her tongue can be lined with blades. Sometimes I wonder if she lost the sheath when she woke up. Unlike you, a person of the nighttime stars and the darkness, she is the moon. She shines in the light of others but on her own, she might lose that beautiful glimmer. It’s less of the fault of the people around her as it is her breaking herself. It’s a shame really.

 

I like her too. She’s a wonderful person.

 

I saw the pictures you drew.

 

They tell me you once loved her.

 

I believe you still do, even a little. She may love another, someone of the sun, the light you hate, and she may have broken your heart like glass, but your heart hasn’t died. It still works, it still loves, even with the smallest of onces. Not all love is romantic. Everyone says you don’t love her anymore, that you’re not as affectionate as you once were. Part of me wishes I could have met the love-struck you. But I also know you didn’t smile as much then, only when someone told you to. Truth, you’re still very sad, but you can still be happy.

 

Maybe loosening your grip on her let the little pleasures of life slip through.

 

It was better for both of you to let yourselves breathe.


	11. Chapter 11

I know you don’t dream often, because you live in the night, but the dreams you tell me are so vivid.

 

Many people don’t remember their dreams. Maybe their trip to the dreamscape just wasn’t that big, at least for them. When they do, they have such a hard time describing it. Their mouths can’t make up for their subconscious actions. I’m often that way. But you, my prince, you’re not like that. Why, just the other night, you said you dreamt about a bird mourning the loss of his love on a snowy, summer beach while a man was being punished for gazing upon beautiful pink trees. What a beautiful world you come to visit at night. I see you take photos from the dreams so those who can’t leave with you can see what you do. A kind gesture, really.

 

But there are places you go that you don’t like.

 

Dreams that make you scared.

 

Dreams that make you wake up in a cold sweat.

 

These lands are places you photograph not for them to witness, but for us to understand your pain.

 

Monsters that tear you limb from limb, monsters that build their army of blood and skeletons.  Little butterfly worms crawling into a man’s scalp to turn him into a lifeless drone. An insane woman stabbing innocent people with pens and pencils. Being seen as monstrous yourself, someone different and unacceptable, someone who isn’t allowed to live. Creatures who are out to get you. You can’t fight them all alone, it’s overwhelming. I know it is. I know for hours after these night terrors, you stay awake, scared to go back to sleep. Scared to relive them. 

 

My prince, I want to hold you.

 

I want to protect you from everything that wants to hurt you.

 

Scarlet Prince, I will be your Paper Knight. 


	12. Chapter 12

Among the art students I’ve met, you, my prince, are the oddest.

 

Those people in your class who play in the world of art aren’t like you. Sure, they love art. They like to write and play music or draw and paint and create, like the midnight hatter. She enjoys creating works of art for people to don on their bodies. Or the girl with the venomous eyes and rose champagne hair. She finds tainting pure and beautiful buildings with chaos and madness to be very entertaining and doesn’t care much for the romance and sexual relations of what the city offers her. On the other hand, the girl with ice water eyes and a pink saturated heart and her friend, the one with the waterfall of shadows dripping from her head, they love music. They love the messages they convey and the artistry of stringing notes on the page. It’s amazing how something as simple as a song could bring such different people together.

 

But, in all truth, none of them are quite like you.

 

She, the one of venom, is close, but not the same.

 

All of them don’t dedicate themselves like you do, they don’t find it as intoxicating as you do.

 

They can find other things to do with their time. They enjoy socializing, having friends, talking to each other, anything life has to offer to them. The world for them is much more vivid and saturated, tinted in a much rosier color than what you see.

 

You, my prince, aren’t like them. You find solace in nothing but your craft and push away anything that others enjoy. If anything, I think other people make you dread living. You think, “Why am I here? Why should I waste my precious time with these people when I could be working?” Sometimes I think your “dedication” is unhealthy. I remember you would disappear for days, drawing in the darkness of your bedroom without sleeping or eating. I’d find you looking deathly ill, smiling maniacally at whatever it was you were creating. There was the one occasion I’d find you unconscious  on the floor below your desk. I had to take you to the doctor for several weeks, despite your hissing and clawing at me, just to make sure you were recovering right. Your body was already weak, that experience didn’t help any.

 

I’m scared to leave you alone for this exact reason. 

 

Please, Scarlet Prince, learn to love yourself the way you need and deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I found an "Ace of Spades Rose Champagne", so that's fitting.


	13. Chapter 13

I will admit, I’m not the most vivid social butterfly either. I prefered to stick my nose in a book and get lost in the castle that’s been crafted by words. I suppose that’s why I decided to write this story, because I loved the fairy tale land I felt every time I read a book. We aren’t so different in that aspect, no? We both indulge in our craft because the real world just isn’t as appealing. The fictional world is much more saturated and colorful, teeming with life and mysteries to be unfolded, while the real one is grey and nude where the mystery lies in the drama who was resting on a velvet chaise and a scarlet gown, waiting to entice all who look upon her. It’s just not that exciting for us.

 

But our minds are two different fields.

 

I took you out to play and enjoy the city outside of your bedroom.

 

When we went on the ferris wheel, I thought the view was beautiful. Seeing the city from a room in the sky as the sun set and casting a gradient of warm colors over the sky and the buildings all together and their colors becoming so soft, it was a delight. You thought otherwise. I remember hearing you say, “What a tragedy this is.” You say my eyes are tinted with roses, but yours are stained grey. I see a beautiful view from a spot in the sky, you see an inevitable death trap. I want to someday explore the world and break out of my shell, but you fear leaving your home. Your own space makes you euphoric, the only place of comfort. You love it when the darkness kisses your head and hugs you close. 

 

Your void is a safe haven, but I can never enter it.


	14. Chapter 14

One of the things I love about you the most is your resistance to follow the crowd.

 

You’re a scarlet minnow swimming against the stream while the other grey fish swim as a pack with the stream.

 

Everyone thinks you’re being foolish, thinking you’re stupid for not doing the common practice they all indulge in. 

 

But the truth is, you just don’t want to. On the path most taken, you know the outcome, you know the journey, you know everything that’s going to happen. Those other fish are the ones who don’t think. They don’t consider the times in which they swim in. You think that path is a stupid one. It’s boring to know how things will turn out, and especially so when you know it’s a mistake. It’s more fun to choose a path that hasn’t been made by previous feet, to look forward to the unpredictable, or so you’ve said.

 

I’ve never seen such a rational and logical person act and think as you do.

 

You live on the fence of reality and illusions. You love strange and delusional things, you draw them all the time. Stars falling from the sky, drinking the universe in your tea latte, mermaids and vampires kissing under a bleeding moon, roses dancing in a theater of thistles. Even more sane ideas, you love them. But when it comes to this pitiful world you’re forced to live in, it’s the opposite. You scoff at love and human ambitions because you don’t think they’re worth the time or effort. You think they should think more rational about them instead of referencing survivor bias or fairy tales. Other people of ration and logic aren’t like you. They burn every thought of magic and fantasy to only exist in the real world. Their ties with the spiritual plane were demolished. 

 

You seem like you’re trying to grab on to this childish dream for the life of you, no matter how much the grip hurts you.


	15. Chapter 15

Scarlet Prince, you’re not a fan of opening your windows and doors to others.

 

I think you’re scared people will think you’re a monster, like you’re inhuman.

 

I saw inside.

 

I don’t think you’re a monster.

 

You’re just a small and hurt animal.

 

I saw the scars. The scratching and the cuts. You never let people see your deathly pale skin with the pink and red healing gashes. I saw how you got them. Fear and anxiety bubbled up inside and broke your timer. It grew and grew and you needed to cut it down to size. You needed a way to relieve it. You would wear dark nail polish to hide the blood. It’s gotten better, but it certainly hasn’t gone away. She knows about it, the one with the midnight hair. For years, she’s noticed the blood and the scratches. It wasn’t until she said something that you started hiding them away out of insecurity and worry.

 

I saw the pictures.

 

You love things that you think most people wouldn’t. Finding pleasure in transitions of color and tales of macabre murder and insanity, you smile and laugh like a bubbly school girl. I rarely see this for myself, but it’s odd when I do. I always think you’re euphoric at a common man’s desire like love, romance, funny stories and lust. But it never is. You’re always snickering at some rather darkly lit thought, something most people would find to be rather grotesque and frightening. My prince, you’re quite odd in that aspect, as your soul isn’t the brightest nor the cleanest. This trait of yourself, you don’t love expressing it to the world, and it’s something you tend to keep locked up. I won’t lie, it does get scary from time to time, seeing you act like a madman, but don’t many act that way? They aren’t afraid, and no one judges them for it, why should they judge you?


	16. Chapter 16

_ This boy, this prince, the one with the crown of bleeding roses who don the scarlet veil.  _

 

_ His eyes had no life in them, there was no soul behind the window, yet those eyes still held the kindest gaze as though the demons who lived inside were still trying to keep everyone at their highest.  _

 

_ His throat, it was scarred and slit but his voice was still soft and sweet with every word he spoke.  _

 

_ His hands were pale and thin despite drawing the most beautiful pictures.  _

 

_ His heart had been broken ten thousand times before, but it still loved more than a man whose heart was still fresh and clean. _

 

My prince, you’re sick but you bear no fever, no pain, no coughing. Your ailment is bound not by your body, but your mind. Truth, not everyone can see that you’re not well-- In fact, to most you look fine. You look like someone whose head was still intact, but I know you’re not. I know I tell you how lovely it is, the head of yours that dreams constantly and acts in opposition to others, but I can’t deny your illness. The scratching on your arms, the straying from society, the screaming nightmares in your sleep, the times when you’d cry when no one was there. 

 

I can see you’ve been broken. I can see the cracks in your eyes, in your skin like a shattered mirror. Your heart hurts yet you still carry it to the war outside your castle. What if it forgot to beat because you were scared of everyone who came near you? 

 

I don’t know what hurt you. I don’t know what will heal you.

 

I wish I could help.

 

My prince, you experience something I don’t believe I could ever imagine every day. I have felt hurt, from a broken heart and a wounded soul, but not the same way as you. You seem to have a clock whose ticking always tells you to forget to breathe, to forget to see the beautiful flowers. There’s so many of them; morning glory, geraniums, pansies, roses, tulips, hibiscus, gardenias- what were those flowers you said you loved?

 

Ah yes, lilacs.

 

You said they were alien to the world in the head, but not so in a way that is bad. You liked them because they reminded you of those nights when there were no sleepy drifting clouds to cover the stars and the moon, when the moon was full and washed the world in a cool pale light so all may see but none shall lose their sight or be burned by the intensity. They reminded you of the sky when it wasn’t made of black ink, but rather a cluster of dark colors in contrast to the colors of the sky when the sun was rising. They reminded you of your happiest moments. 

 

I want to give you lilacs everyday so you can be reminded of your happiest moments.

 

It might not heal you, but it might help for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even remember when the last time I posted a chapter was. I forgot how I wrote this fic, why i wrote this fic, and more. I forgot how much I like doing this kind of writing, that's all poetic and symbolic of madness.


End file.
